Vivi Hates Skipping
by Fruitcake Claims A Victim
Summary: An amalgamation of adrenaline-fuelled rage and alcohol-caused headache drive Vivi to inflict deadly vengeance!


Vivi Hates Skipping by The Fruitcake Claims A Victim  
  
The sun shone on Gaia with a skull-splitting intensity, driving creatures insane with frustrated desire. The cloudless sky was blue as the most welcoming ocean; birds swam in the gravity defying pools, speaking of their undertaking in beautiful, singsong voices. On the streets of Alexandria, merchants flogged their wares, peasants gazed at their goods in longing, and nobles paid no heed to either. People went about their business as usual; housewives span cleaning circles through their domiciles with dust- shifting intensity, old men converged at the port to fish and talk lackadaisically of the old days, children met in the street to play pretend.  
  
In a dark corner of the city, Vivi was stirring. A shaft of light violated his curtains and fell upon his face with waking consequence. He felt rough; a night on the tiles with Zidane was usually a fate he tried to avoid, but on this occasion he had no choice. Spheres of pain erupted in his skull with every heartbeat, specks played upon his vision. Entering his lounge, he saw Zidane slumbering on the couch, his undercrackers urine-damp, his chest stained by a steaming lake of carrot-rich vomit. Vivi sighed at the sight, and made his way into the kitchen.  
  
The room was abundant with dirty pottery; a commodious heap of plates clogged the sink, radiating formidable challenge. Vivi chose not to worry himself with this task, instead constructing himself an equitable breakfast of fruit and cereal. With great speed he went to work, mercilessly devouring milk-sodden spoonful of cornflakes after milk-sodden spoonful of cornflakes. His greedy maw chomped succulent fruit with rehearsed intensity; his tiny hands employed to force the edible pulpy mass into his rapidly gnashing mouth. When he had devoured the last stimulating mouthful of breakfastery cuisine, he got himself a drink, to settle his stomach.  
  
Walking outside into the daylight, he was reminded once again of the splendour of Alexandria. Buildings formed an architectural ravine around him, a monument of good design and structure. He decided to stroll, and inhaled vast lungfulls of the good, clean air as he did so. The oxygen breezed through his body with invigorating speed, clearing his head and mending his senses. He began to recover from the intoxicating effects of drinking, and was back to his bright, breezy self before too long. He was about to return home and wake Zidane when he saw a thing that delighted him. The girls where skipping again. Oh, how often had Vivi tried to conquer that unscalable peak? How many times had that silver snake of destiny tripped him agonisingly in the last moments before the blissfulness of victory and the assiduous rapture of achievement? The prospect of challenge and the happiness it's subjugation would cause sent blissful waves through his being. Yes he had failed before, but this time he had a plan, an infallible stratagem! He would succeed where he had failed so often, or he would die in the process.  
  
He stepped up to the challenge, his face a mask of chivalrous determination; his body language suggested complete tenacity. The girls looked at him, and bowed their heads in respect. Vivi took a moment to silence his mind, meditated deeply on the hastening challenge, that joyous sacrosanct. Then he began.  
  
One jump became fifty, fifty jumps became four hundred, hour hundred became eight hundred. Though he was hurt he battled on; though his legs threatened to fall away, he continued on his quest for a thousand jumps. I. MUST. REMAIN. ERECT. Vivi thought, his internal monologue spoken with a persistent resolution. I. MUST. NOT. FAIL. Sweat ran along his brow now, as his level of concentration rose to heights beyond comprehension. His aura was glowing, glowing purple as Royal opprobrium. He knew victory was his, he knew by the frantic, breathless counting of his scorekeeper, he knew by the expectancy in the children's eyes, and their faces, oh their faces! They spoke to him a thousand joyous words. They told him that victory was only ten jumps away, nine, eight, seven, six, five. The pain, when it came, was a bone-splintering eruption at the back of his skull, white-hot and blinding. The rope had tangled his legs and brought him crashing to the ground. He remained still, crying in frustration and shame. "It's okay Vivi," the girl said, reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder. "No it's NOT okay," he cried, batting her hand away and standing up. "I can't do it! I'll never be able to do it! I DON'T WANNA LIVE!!!" He gazed at the three girls with a look of absolute contempt. The purple aura that had briefly surrounded him returned, only this time, it's colour spoke of a malfeasant purpose. Electricity ran along the angles of his body. A bizarre transformation then occurred; Vivi's persona was transposed by a completely alien image. His hat was lengthened and then emblazed with strange emblems, his simple cloak was swapped for one of sweeping majesty, his rod was replaced by a glowing golden sceptre. "You have tormented me for long enough!" Vivi spat, his power sodden saliva sparking and hissing upon the ground. "I shall suffer you no more! NOW DIE!!!" He lashed out viscously; his fist destroyed the girl's face completely, fracturing her skull to the pint of collapse. Gore and brain fluid sprayed from the tears in her flesh, and from her ears and nostrils. She fell to the ground, her bloodied face mangled beyond recognition. "VIVI! PLEASE STOP THIS!" a girl cried in terror. "FUCK YOU!" Vivi addressed her youthful form. "You must all pay the ultimate price for my suffering!" Vivi leapt forward with speed enough to blur. His swung his powerful rod with all his might, connecting with the side of the girl's skull. The force of the attack ripped the head from her shoulders. Piss and shit filled her undies as her body spasmed and made a pretty red puddle. The last girl quivered before Vivi, shrinking into a ball. She was too sacred to even move. Laughing, Vivi raised his sceptre above him. Channelling every ounce of his strength into the golden wand, and brought it down with a resounding crack. It seemed that Vivi had over estimated his own strength; the girl was eviscerated entirely, and he was promptly coated by litres of gore, and slivers of tissue that sprang from the mess like frogs on a mission. His sceptre tore a vast hole in the ground, and from that, cracks began to spread in spider-web formations. With horror, Vivi realised he was stood on a widening crack. Before he could react, he was sucked into the abyss, never to be seen again.  
  
Zidane awoke to the sound of screaming. He looked around, trying to remember who he was, and what he was doing here. All he knew was that vomit stained his chest and hair, and that the scent of piss wafted from his suspicious looking He was still puzzlingly considering his existence when his house was torn in half. "Shit!" he cried, leaping to his feet, as half the lounge disappeared down a ravine. What he saw beyond the collapsed wall terrified him; the city of Alexandria was being torn apart. Smug looking buildings where pulled into thin ravine's by the bastard that is gravity. The city itself was appreciably smaller now that half it's architecture had been devoured by the gluttonous ground. People disappeared down giant potholes or where crushed by falling buildings. A violent, gory play was showing before him. With a creak that sparked intense realisational fear, Zidane noticed the rest of the house began to collapse around him. Debris fell around his person, the tilt of the floor caused furniture to fall, forcing Zidane to make the life-threateningly-long leap over the ever-widening ravine. He sort of made it, and he sort of didn't. I mean he didn't get across, but he didn't fall down. I mean he kind of grabbed onto the edge. His grip was precarious, and was contingent on the ledge not falling apart. Which it did. As he fell to his certain demise, Zidane reflected on that he still couldn't remember who the fuck he was. 


End file.
